Fool's Errand
by Whitewolfffy
Summary: Early morning phone calls haunt Kyoya, and the Shadow King is not pleased. Oneshot Prompt: 2 a.m.


**Fool's Errand**

_Bsst._

2 a.m.

The world was dead to him. Nothing existed that early in the morning, and anything that dared to wasn't there long. He stirred.

_Bsst_.

He lifted his head, squinting in the general direction of his nightstand. A soft, persistent glow emitted from an oval object. The question was, was it worth it to answer?

_Bsst._

Kyoya sighed, snatching the phone off the nightstand. The effort it took to make the simple movement aggravated his muscles. It better not be Tamaki.

"What do you want?" He said lowly.

A female voice answered from the other end, her tone light and bubbly.

"Hello, Kyoya-sama! Am I disturbing you?"

He blinked slowly, "As a matter of fac-"

"Oh, good! I was afraid you'd be asleep right now, but I really needed your help with something."

He restrained the urge to say something regretful, and instead grimaced. What did _she _want this early in the morning? And who had been stupid enough to give her his cell phone number?

"Ms. Houshakuji, I regret to inform you that as of this moment I am in no position to be offering assistance with anything."

Her voice dampened, and he imagined her face falling.

"Oh…I see."

Good. She could go bother Tamaki with her eccentric, infuriating issues.

"It's fortunate that this won't take long!"

Kyoya raked a hand through his unruly hair.

"Ms. Houshakuji, can this wait till after school – during Club?"

"Well, perhaps I could-"

"Excellent. Goodbye, then."

He snapped the phone closed, ignoring the fact that he might have bordered on being rude. Hosts were exalted for their socializing skills, and more often than not Kyoya didn't fit the mold. Although, _he_ wasn't the one that had woken someone up at two in the morning. What had she wanted anyway?

Kyoya rolled over, burying his face into his pillow. His thoughts were still muddled, as they always were when he was awake far before the rest of his body was. It was better to return back to a catatonic state, free from any obligations that the living world brought with it. A few moments of blissful ignorance were what he always wanted and never had. The Shadow King was always aware of everything, and though he served that title well, he'd rather forget about the Club, his father's expectations, the budget that Tamaki all-too-often surpassed, and phone calls from obsessive daughters of elite business men.

This was too much stress to stomach at 2 a.m. on a Monday. He would have to get up in four hours anyway. Damn Renge.

It was the first of a series of phone calls. It took only four more days for Kyoya to fall into a distasteful routine. In three days he was able to pinpoint the exact time range in which Renge called, and in four his body began to react. On Friday morning, he woke up at 1:53 a.m. without any prompting from his cell phone.

On the third morning, he found himself staring at the ceiling, waiting. His phone rested on his chest, and when it hummed, he lifted it to his ear.

"Ms. Houshakuji, this is the third morning in a row that you have called me. Is there a legitimate reason for your persistence?"

She let out a sound that closely resembled a hiccup, but it was hushed.

"I wanted your opinion on the next cosplay idea, Kyoya-sama. I was considering doing the Chinese Zodiac, but there are more animals than hosts, so I-"

"Ms. Houshakuji, I've told you twice before that you can speak with me over these matters during or after Club hours. During this time I am sleeping, and I would appreciate it if you did not disturb this precious window that is available to me."

"Well, I…b-but if you could just-"

"No," He said sharply, "You claim the title of Club Manager. Proceed with the necessary initiative. Do _not_ wake me up again, Ms. Houshakuji."

His phone fell into a silence that stretched through the rest of the morning. He rooted into the sheets gratefully, ignoring the fact that Tamaki would scold him for his harsh behavior towards a lady, and his father would no doubt be displeased with his treatment toward the daughter of an important business man. None of it mattered while he slept. And for a few more valuable hours, he could pretend none of it existed.

The problem was, once he woke up and got into his uniform, emotions were just as real as going to school. It made it easier to brush-off the reality of it as long as he clung onto sleep, and for most of the morning he successfully trudged through his house, into the limousine, and down the halls of Ouran in a completely catatonic, half-lidded disposition.

However, in Music Room #3, he wasn't Kyoya anymore. He was a Host. And with that he adorned the exterior of a composed, untouchable cool type that the girls could fawn over – and fawn they did.

"Kyoya, this is lovely porcelain. Did you order it especially for today?" A petite, blonde guest inquired.

He leaned back in his chair, inclining his head with polite interest.

"You have a magnificent eye, Ms. Katsuya."

She blushed delicately, her eyes lowering to her lap. Another girl – daughter of a rising physician in one of their rivaling clinics, he noted – spoke up.

"They are exquisite! My mother would certainly be pleased to have them in her personal collection, I'm sure."

"I will put in a request for you with our next purchase, if you would like."

"Oh, that would be lovely! I'll recommend them to my mother." She smiled brilliantly.

His eyes discretely flitted over the room, assessing the other hosts and their current positions. Tamaki absently twirled a lock of the hair belonging to a girl that he spoke to in hushed tones. She swooned, one hand a gentle pressure on his arm as she leaned into his romantic aura. He produced a rose out of a seamless stash that seemed to be buried deep into his uniform jacket, Kyoya mused. That fool could probably make a fortune off of being a magician if he wasn't already knee-deep in his family's wealth.

The twins were engaged in a familiar game of 'Which One is Hikaru?' with a trio of customers. They all eagerly played along, and no one was the wiser if they lost. The allure of the game was that there were never losers, because the twins always made sure that every choice was the right one. Guests didn't pay to be disappointed, and the ladies' happiness was in the absolute interest of every host.

In the east side Hunny was offering slices of cake in generous portions to him and Mori's guests. The girls always accepted, whether it was to appease the cute, innocent, Lolita character, or to have a taste of the expensive, various flavors offered only at the Host Club. In almost a hysterical manner, it would have seemed that the girls were hosting the young boy instead of the other way around. Mori sat straightly, his eyes following his young charge's movements. The pair was nearly as inseparable as the twins. One of Mori's guests grinned brilliantly at him, her hand lightly resting on his as she sipped at her tea. Short, black hair framed maroon eyes.

Lastly was the natural of the group. Haruhi's guests were engrossed, their eyes transfixed on their host as she retold of a cooking experiment gone horribly wrong. Somehow she made the incident sound far more exciting than it probably had been, but that could have also had to do with the girls having no previous experience with the daily lives of commoners. She was fascinating, mesmerizing even, simply because she dared to attend the academy strictly as an honor student and live a life full of hardship and poor standing – at least, that's what their take on it was.

Kyoya inspected the room quietly. Everything was as it should be during this time of day.

His attention was caught by a figure strolling across the room, toward him. Tamaki grinned brightly, his sunny hair perfect, his blue eyes clear. It was obviously why he was the most highly requested host. The King, as it was. A fool, but a king no less.

"Hey, bestest buddy in the whole wide world!" He beamed.

Kyoya fixed him with composed scrutiny. He had left his guests to come over here, so it was doubtful he only wanted an affectionate – albeit all-too-common, kin-related – exchange. What did he want now?

"Is there something you need?"

Tamaki's face fell, his lips pursing in a pretty pout.

"Why, that's no way to greet your best friend! Didn't you miss me between the beginning of Club and now?"

"The thought of our next reunion has been painful."

The blonde threw his arm around Kyoya's shoulders, the familiar sunny expression returning to his face.

"Mommy _does_ care! Don't worry, after Club we'll spend some quality time together eating the delicious sweets that our daughter prepared for us – just like a real family!"

Haruhi directed a dead-pan look in Tamaki's direction. Apparently she had heard.

"Haru-chan brought sweets?" Hunny cried from across the room.

Apparently he had heard, too. According to the growing list of reactions, it would've seemed that all of the hosts had caught the bit end of the conversation.

Hikaru slid right up against Tamaki's side, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

"Hey, how come you didn't tell us, Boss?"

Kaoru joined his twin, gingerly whispering into the other ear.

"Yeah, Boss. Are you trying to plan a secret date with Haruhi, or something?"

Tamaki's face bloomed a deep red, "Shut up! There is nothing wrong with a mother and father spending quality time with their daughter, you imbeciles!"

"Who are you calling an 'imbecile'?" They chimed in unison.

Kyoya sighed, sliding back down into his chair. He needed more hours of sleep to deal with this.

He didn't ever find out what Tamaki had really wanted – not till the end of Club. The three had continued to bicker for over half an hour before the gentlemanly, Host part of Tamaki took over and guided him back to his guests. By then he became too caught up in entertaining the ladies to remember his visit to his best friend.

Kyoya had begun to gather his things when Tamaki approached him again.

"I had meant to ask you a favor, Kyoya." He frowned.

The raven-haired male neatly tucked his laptop into his briefcase.

"That's alright. What did you need?"

Tamaki furrowed his brow, "Renge was pretty upset today. I couldn't find time to ask her what was wrong, and I'm not sure she would listen to me if I tried. I was wondering if you'd mind speaking with her. She admires you so."

Kyoya blinked. He hadn't noticed her presence, or the lack there of. And since when did Tamaki note her opinion of him? Usually he strived on like the oblivious fool he was, shamelessly attempting at swaying another maiden's heart. Perhaps he was finally noticing Renge's obvious distaste of his hosting style.

The boy grinned, slapping Kyoya on the back.

"Well, good luck to you, then. Don't let me down!"

Tamaki winked, turning to walk toward the doors, ignoring the fact that Kyoya hadn't even responded. He paused.

"I have a feeling I'm forgetting something." He mumbled.

After a moment, he walked out.

Kyoya grimaced, lifting a hand to rub at his forehead. What was all of that supposed to mean, anyway?

* * *

_Bsst._

2 a.m. again. It better not be Renge.

Kyoya squinted at the screen, only to be surprised by Tamaki's brilliant smile and peace sign. He groaned, lifting it to his ear. If he didn't answer now, it wouldn't stop ringing.

"Oh, good, you're awake! I'm in the most _dreadful _situation right now, Kyoya! YOU WOULDN'T BELIEVE IT!"

He winced, holding the phone a length from his ear. He could still hear Tamaki bellowing into the empty, dead space of his room.

"What is it?" He asked slowly.

"I left my notebook in the Club Room! Can you **believe** it? This is just terrible, Kyoya! WE HAVE A TEST TOMORROW!"

"Yes, I'm aware of that. Why don't you go get it, then?"

Tamaki whined, "Those lecherous twins have my spare key!"

He already knew where this was going. Tamaki was retarded for calling him this early, and insane if he thought Kyoya would get _out_ of bed to go fetch his notebook. But staying on his good side was the logical thing to do. His father had originally ordered him to do anything possible to form ties with the next Suoh heir, and if that meant groveling, then he would get close and personal with the dirt in front of Tamaki's shoes.

Where would that fool be if not for him?

"You owe me."

* * *

His footfalls echoed in the vacant halls, redundant sound that somehow brought comfort with it. They reaffirmed that there was something consistent and regular in the bare darkness. The sign that hung over the doors read 'Music Room #3' in unintelligible scrawl that he couldn't see in the dark, but the familiar loops and curves were so familiar to him that they had clear implication.

There was faint light filtering out from under the doors, spreading like fingertips into the dark hallway. He tried the handles without his key, and the doors swung open without protest.

Warm illumination fell over Kyoya as he stepped into the Club Room. He quietly let the doors click shut behind him, his eyes scanning his surroundings, searching. Someone was here, obviously. He had made sure to close up the day before personally, and every day before that, just to put to rest any chance of someone forgetting the lights or locking up. Whoever was here had a key to the room.

Kyoya moved quietly toward a set of couches – usually Tamaki's spot for entertaining customers. A shape poked out from over the edge of a loveseat, and Kyoya silently crept toward it. Tamaki had sent him to come here because he didn't have his key, so quite obviously it couldn't have been him. A head of auburn hair came into view as he grew closer, and Kyoya paused behind the loveseat. There was a sound emitting from the person, and he noticed the figure's slight hunch, the trembling of their thin shoulders. The familiar yellow of the female body's uniform caught his eye, and Kyoya stiffened with surprise.

Haruhi didn't wear a dress, and her hair wasn't that long.

"Ms. Houshakuji, is there something bothering you?" He held an even tone, though he couldn't help being genuinely curious over her presence.

She jumped, letting out a yelp of astonishment. Renge twisted around, her mouth forming a round 'o'. Her eyes were wide and rimmed with pink, her cheeks splotchy and tear-stained. Her hair was unmanageable, the usual bow absent. She was a sight, and a shock compared to the usually animated young manager that they saw every day.

"Kyoya-sama, what are you doing here?"

He raised an eyebrow, "That question applies to both parties, doesn't it?"

She sniffled, lifting a hand to swipe at her cheek.

"Right. Uhm…well, I thought I'd put in some extra time to work on the new cosplay designs for the Hosts."

"They aren't due for two more weeks."

She unfolded herself from a curled position, pulling a handkerchief out of her pocket. She turned away from him to discretely blow her nose, and he waited quietly, his eyes running over the coffee table in front of her. There were papers scattered in chaotic disarray all over the smooth surface. A portfolio leaned neatly against the leg, forgotten and nearly unzipped. Expensive, ball-point pens, ranging from gold to silver, as well as a few permanent markers, lay dispersed everywhere. It was obvious she had been at work on _something_.

Renge folded the handkerchief, setting it aside as she hesitantly lifted her eyes to meet his. Her lashes were thick and wet, her nose a light hue of red. Her cheeks were flushed as well, but he suspected it was from the evident crying. She cleared her throat. Kyoya resisted the urge to distract his mind, which usually consisted of him fingering his pen or scanning the contents of his notebook. Since neither was available, he felt oddly misplaced.

"I'm sorry if I wasn't supposed to be here. I just…didn't have anywhere else to…"

Her lip quivered, and she squeezed her eyes closed, her hands clenching the skirt of her dress into tight knots in her palms.

Kyoya studied her face, his sharp gaze falling to her hands. Ink smudges stained the knuckles, blotches of color dotting her fingers. He glanced at her handkerchief, observing the thin, saturated fabric.

"Are you angry?" She whispered.

He cautiously eased into the cushion beside her, leisurely and careful, in case she decided to throw herself at him and use him as a pillow to cry on. The handkerchief looked forlorn in its soppy state, and he wasn't about to join it. This was, after all, a crisply laundered uniform.

"Should I be?"

The sofa was top-of-the-line quality, only the minimum expectancy from the Hosts, and yet he felt uncomfortable sitting on it.

"I suppose I should have asked permission…"

Kyoya clasped his hands in his lap, crossing his legs.

"Is this the first time you've come here this early?"

Renge swallowed, shaking her head.

"Well, I'm not angry. You've been using the room for club-related purposes, and you're a member – your key confirms that. There's no need to be upset; I have no standing to punish you by."

She shook her head fervently, a nervous hiccup escaping her. She lifted her hands, covering her eyes and kneading them with the heels of her hands.

"That's not the reason. Though I _am_ glad you're not displeased with me over that."

His mind replayed the day before, and Tamaki's request.

"…_I was wondering if you'd mind speaking with her. She admires you so."_

Kyoya pressed his lips into a thin line. Tamaki definitely owed him, and he would collect eagerly.

"I will listen if you want to speak about it."

He was met with silence, and Kyoya cringed inwardly. He waited for the outburst of emotions and tears that he expected would come. Instead the quiet stretched through the atmosphere. A pair of wide, incredulous caramel eyes stared back at him, and Kyoya resisted the urge to scoot farther into the arm of the sofa. Doubt and awe surfaced in her gaze, and he felt her reaction before she spoke it.

"Really?"

He responded coolly, "Certainly."

The room felt smaller than before. She had a petite figure, he noticed. Sitting near her, in comparison, she was quite small. Kyoya hadn't been known for his large input in conversations in the past, but somehow he still felt at a loss for words here.

"I don't have anyone to talk to." She said softly.

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm here, aren't I?" The last part came off more bitter than he had meant it to.

Renge smiled faintly, "Yes, you are, aren't you? I'm a little surprised you offered to talk."

A single, raven eyebrow winged upward. She began to fidget inconspicuously. It was a small, discreet movement, but he still caught it.

"You grew angry when I called you before…"

Kyoya leaned back in the cushion.

"One should know not to attempt at waking me at such an hour. It's unhealthy for both parties – both verbally and physically."

Renge sniffed, her hand reaching for the abused handkerchief. Kyoya reached into his uniform jacket, pulling out a clean, neatly folded one. She took it gratefully, a little surprised. Since he had sat down, her expression was nearly always one of astonishment.

"You're not acting like you usually do." She mused.

"I'm not accustomed to finding Host Club members sitting alone, crying in the Club room at this time in the morning, either." He replied.

She swallowed, swiftly changing the subject.

"I apologize if I made you unhappy, Kyoya-sama – over calling you so early before, I mean. It truly wasn't my intention!"

"To call so early or to annoy me?"

Her eyes grew round, "Both!"

"What _was_ your intention in calling that early, then, Ms. Houshakuji? You never told me, though you claimed it was important."

Renge stared at the portfolio for a moment.

"I was lonely," Her voice fell to a whisper.

Kyoya remained quiet.

"I said before – I didn't have anyone to talk to. My father is in France, because I came here of my own accord to attend Ouran. I live in a mansion by myself, aside from the staff. I suppose I miss my father, and I'm nostaligic."

He realized then just how alike Tamaki and Renge were. Both in personality as well as their situation. They were both fools, yet somehow they both were capable of winning over the tiny amount of compassion he possessed. He wasn't sure why, either. It didn't benefit him in any manner. If anything, it was a constant nuisance.

He could only imagine how many mornings she had sat here, on this small couch, staring at her portfolio as she dialed his number. He already knew how many mornings she had – he'd experienced that damnable thing firsthand. But thinking about it from her point-of-view somehow made the act seem less wrong.

As though reading his thoughts, she said softly, "I just wanted to hear someone's voice."

The room remained still – the way he usually liked it when he came in to work early on marketing for the Club. Renge blew into his handkerchief with a small sniffle, followed by a hiccup. He was beginning to notice that this happened whenever there was quiet. Perhaps quiet atmospheres made her nervous – it'd explain the loud, obnoxious activity she filled every moment with.

Kyoya's eyes shifted to her portfolio. He reached for it.

"May I?"

Renge nodded slowly, her expression a mixture of confusion and surprise.

He laid it on the table and unzipped it, pulling out the papers inside. An array of designs, sketches, and printed images were arranged in a neat pile. He leaned back, thumbing through them. He could feel her eyes on him, trying to figure out what he was doing.

"These are some of your ideas?"

She nodded.

"And you wanted to get my opinion on them?"

Renge hesitated, "Well, I didn't-"

He raised a hand, cutting her off.

"I came here on an errand, but since I'm already here, and it'd be hard to go back to bed after this visit, I'll go ahead and take advantage of the time to look them over."

Renge blanched.

The designs were quite good. It was obvious she had spent a great length in time working on them. Kyoya had never thought her incapable, but he was mildly surprised to see how much detail had been etched into the papers. She had been thorough.

"Are they awful?" She croaked.

One eyebrow winged upward, and Kyoya's eyes flitted away from the designs momentarily.

"Don't be daft. They are superior to some of Tamaki's past ideas, and far better in quality than what I was expecting," Kyoya mumbled the last part incoherently, "I would buy into each and every one to dodge another one of that fool's 'Commoners' Fashion Show' schemes."

He was unnerved to find the young manager in tears again when he turned to look at her. Her eyes were large and brimming with fresh moisture, her lips quivering. Renge clutched the fabric of her dress, a small smile beginning to curve her mouth. Kyoya's breath lodged in his throat as she lunged at him, her arms wrapping around the Ohtori adoringly. A gasp escaped him, and his muscles clenched. Kyoya gritted his teeth, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.

"Oh, I was so sure you'd absolutely hate them! With what you said on the phone, and how cold you had been lately, I was so sure…"

He bit back a comment about his coldness. He hadn't realized there had ever been a time where had been anything but neutral with her. Her smile grew warm, and Kyoya restrained the urge to jerk out of her grasp. Tamaki's words played over and over in his head like a broken record.

"_She admires you so… She admires you so…"_

Her eyes had grown soft with delight, and though the pressure of her arms around his middle was slightly uncomfortable, Kyoya felt something stir in him for the first time towards the girl other than contempt. She was alone, and in some way, perhaps she thought of the Host Club as Tamaki had. A family that accepted her presence despite her status or gender. What was it Haruhi had said?

"_Why should I care about appearances and labels, anyway? All that really matters is what's on the inside, right?"_

In some way, he could relate to that emptiness. If no one in the world cared about you, did you even really exist at all? The only family he saw anymore at home was his sister, and even then it was on occasion. Meeting with his father had slipped into a business-like atmosphere, and his brothers were only meant for him to surpass. He had grown used to the silence when he came home, and the solitude had become a familiar companion.

But then there were people like Tamaki, whom strived on the company of another soul. People who couldn't exist unless they existed in another's eyes – unless they shared their breath with another person.

Renge was alone, and like Tamaki, somehow her presence had slipped under his carefully constructed wall. Like Tamaki, he had begun to feel pity for her.

"I will have to see if we can fit some of these into the budget for next month. Perhaps, if it sees through, you could manage to take responsibility in the management of such themes?" He said softly.

Renge pulled back, her eyes lifting to his face. There was disbelief there in her gaze. It was replaced swiftly by sheer pleasure.

"Of course!"

Kyoya stood then, abruptly, causing the girl to fall back in surprise.

"If that is settled then, I have some other matters to attend to."

Renge stared after him quietly as he collected himself. He moved over the room, until finally he spotted Tamaki's lost notebook. Kyoya paused near the couch, the notebook tucked under his arm, his eyes settling on the girl's still form.

"You look better without the bow." He said after a beat.

Renge's mouth unhinged, her eyes following him in stunned silence. Kyoya exited the room without another word. Perhaps the library would prove more suitable for the work that awaited him on his laptop. Tamaki ought to be grateful, the fool.

Kyoya opened the notebook, only mildly curious as to the fact that his best friend actually took notes. He felt his mouth go dry. Loops and doodles scored the sheets, over-joyed chibis begging to jump off the page. One that closely resembled a certain, young female host was cradling a huge bowl of ramen while adorning a swimsuit. Kyoya pursed his lips, restraining the anger that rose in his throat as he flipped page after page of doodling and the occasional self-note reminder.

It was entirely possible that he had grabbed the wrong notebook. However, the further he neared the end of the notebook, the more he realized that Tamaki had never had the intention of using this notebook specifically for the test. In fact, it was highly likely the real notebook he needed was with him already.

A specific drawing caught his attention. Tamaki's chibi lovingly embraced Kyoya's, and in a little note to the side it informed him that the two were the 'Bestest Friends FOREVER! Mon ami!'.

Kyoya managed a slight smile.

"Moron." He sighed.

* * *

_**This was an entry to a drabble/oneshot contest. I felt like doing some work for Renge/Kyoya, even if it wasn't entirely romantic. Thank you for your time.**_

_**Whitewolfffy~**_


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